My fingers grip the tiny plastic cup. I stare deep into the crimson. Silence thunders through my hollow soul as I swirl translucent red round and round.

Communion compels reflection over the wellness of one’s soul. Sacred are the moments of soul-bearing introspection.

“Remember His death,” they say, yet I can barely remember His presence. If life comes from death, then do dare I to hope this cup bears that in which will bring me life…and awaken my soul?

I feel death—my own. I move about, but feel death lurking within me. This soul, dark and vacant, void of the voice, heart, and breath of the One who claims to be my God. The One who promised His presence would go with me—always.

I can not lie. I want this cup to be His Spirit flowing afresh within me. I want this store-bought juice poured from a recycled jug to supernaturally flow under my skin through my veins, so that I may know He is real.

If I draw this cup to my lips—will He come to me? Can not this holy and reverent sacrament provoke Him to draw near? Is there not anything I can do to conjure up a sign of His presence? Oh how I long for His closeness—to feel the warmth of His breath on me.

I part my lips and drink from the cup.

This tiny splash of crimson runs over my tongue,

And down my throat.

It travels deeper—

As He empties His cup into me.

I pause to feel it drop deeper—

But it does not.

I look to the cup.

Empty.

Clinging to the bottom of clear plastic a lone drop taunts me. This one drop is the “more” I desperately crave to fill the emptiness. Yet, no matter what I do it refuses to leave the cup and drop into my mouth. The cup had no more to pour out.

My mouth touched by the crimson—yet my soul remains empty.

How can this be?

When His cup was emptied—for me?

Desperation wells up within me…

And a frightening thought dares to fleet through my mind—

It’s not enough.

I wince as this mere thought slaps the face of the One I call Lord. The One who prayed as sweat beads burst into droplets of blood upon His brow.The One who pushed through the pain to do His Father’s will.

But is not this cup His will?

Is not the renewing of my soul His will?

Is it not the will of the Father to restore me through His Son’s blood?

Isn’t it?

My heart numb from disappointment. My footing shifts nervously on this Rock I stand. Although the Rock itself is solid—immovable—my feet scramble to keep from slipping off.

If I believe this cup is not enough—who or what will fill the void?

Oh no. God. Where have You gone?

Methodically I stack one empty cup into another and set it carefully under my chair. The music swells and flows throughout the sanctuary as I lower myself to sit, rest, and push away the disappointment. I pretend to ignore the inner struggle of a soul untouched and longing for more.

I can not keep my feet firmly planted on this Rock. The eyes of my heart go in and out of focus as I will myself to stop slipping off the Rock. Doubt and faith battle for my attention. I kneel down to touch the Rock with my hands—to steady myself—as I wait.

Faith speaks:

He will not leave me. He promised.

Doubt shouts:

Get used to the emptiness.

Please God. Please.

Dare I ask for more when He has already suffered and given His very life?

If loaves and fish can multiple to feed thousands—can not the tiny splash of 8% tart-tasting juice increase into gallons if my soul needed it?

My soul needs it God.

As I hang on to this Rock, I choose to believe even a single drop clinging to the bottom of a tiny plastic cup can become an ocean wave of His glory rushing over me—making all things new.

I believe. I really do.

I have to believe. If I don’t—all is hopeless.

A voice booms through the microphone.

“Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably MORE than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us…”

More?

He can do MORE than I ask or imagine?

I rise to my feet. My soul stirred awake. It was as if God Himself reached in where the tiny splash stopped short and thrust the crimson to flow deeper and deeper until it reached my soul. And there, in my cavernous and neglected space, His cup turned over to flood my dry and depleted soul with His Living Water.

For a moment I am swept into His presence and I know He is near. One moment blends into the next and the service continues and eventually ends. Plastic cups are collected and tossed to the trash, but I have hope in His promise—

He has MORE to give.

On the journey with you,

Laura

~Do you have a void you long to fill?

~Who or what fills your longing and emptiness?

~Do you believe God wants to reveal His presence to you?

Here or somewhere…be real. Share your journey.

Relevant Worship

Fall Afresh by Bethel Music/The Loft Sessions (Jeremy Riddle)

Come to Me by Bethel Music/The Loft Sessions (Jenn Johnson)

Agnus Dei by Michael W. Smith {listen to the very end}

Reflective Scripture

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen. Galatians 3:20-21

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